


Beyond Doubt

by nanadee



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanadee/pseuds/nanadee
Summary: All the days you spent throughout three years of grueling training were mostly dedicated to lending a helping hand to your comrades, and yet, you were finally coming to terms -- as earth-shattering as they were -- with the fact that not everyone could be saved. You couldn’t be there for all the incidents, couldn’t grab all of them by the collar of their jackets and drag them away from whatever danger loomed over them. You just couldn’t…Yes, blood was expected to be spilled… along with that of your own… It was never a hidden fact to you and your fellow comrades.[ Jean Kirstein x Reader ]





	1. [Year 847 - 850] The 104th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, let me share a little backstory for this piece.  
> Originally, I posted this particular fic exclusively on Lunaescence way back in 2014. However, I, of course, grew to regret taking the original post down in 2016, and I’ve been missing this story so much lately, that I’ve now decided to re-write it...
> 
>  **A few other things to point out about this fic are:**  
>  1.) this is a canon-based story. there will be canon events often mentioned and revisited.  
> 2.) there will be major spoilers ahead for those of you who haven’t completed any and all episodes yet.  
> 3.) there will be major manga spoilers at a later point in this story, as well.  
> 4.) some chapters will be longer/shorter than others. This first chapter might be the longest.  
> 5.) there will be mentions of major deaths, violence, and there will be strong language.  
> 6.) the rating is subject to change as the story progresses.
> 
> Thank you for your time and for giving this fic a chance. Hope you enjoy.
> 
>  **WARNING :** Spoilers ahead for the anime, Seasons 1-3! There will also be Manga spoilers very late into the story, as well.  
>  **DISCLAIMER :** I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan!
>
>>   
> The inner wealth of the people is  
> colourful as light, to shine inside through coloured glass  
> The comfortable daily life  
> is like warm candle light...  
>   
> [\-- Vogel Im Kafig (spotify)](https://open.spotify.com/track/7AEcphXUR52QGYxdZ8TDVI)

_Year 845._   

_That day, humanity remembered.  
The terror of being ruled by them.  
The humiliation of being kept in a cage._

_Over a hundred years ago, humanity suddenly found itself faced with a new predator. They were far more powerful than humans. Humanity was immediately pushed to the brink of extinction. The survivors built three walls: Maria, Rose, and Sina. There, they enjoyed a century of peace._

_Until..._

 

* * *

 

TRAINING GROUNDS 

You remembered exactly where you were on that day with startling clarity. When the refugees of Wall Maria came spilling in, finding safety in Wall Rose’s stance, when your hometown had become a sanctuary for them. Though, for you, it was nothing more than a nightmare. So many men, women, children, and elderly. So many tears, so much pain etched deep into their faces. A kind of pain that could never be erased, and you never wished to experience it.

Not for yourself, nor anyone you’d ever grow to care for.

Even then, a single question rang loud in your head since that day. Why? Why did Titans have to prey on humans? Why eat people, only to regurgitate those mutilated, twisted limbs because of a lack of a proper digestive system? It all seemed so...unfair. Cruel. Nonsensical. It was just as infuriating as it was horrifying.

Maybe that had been one of the factors that led you to your decision.

When you enlisted in the military at a tender age, terrified after the breach of Wall Maria and the looming possibility of Wall Rose’s future destruction, you thought you had it all figured out. Thought that the road ahead of you had been paved to perfection. God, how wrong and naive you were. Your mother was a soldier before you, part of the Garrison, in fact. Following in her footsteps, taking on a similar path that you’d been exposed to for a larger portion of your life seemed reasonable enough. Safe enough. Something you were familiar with.

Wall Maria's fall had only offered that final push.

The year when your life was slated for a path unforeseen was 847.

It’d been easy to watch the Head Commandant meander back and forth through rows of the 104th wide-eyed recruits, chewing them out for their worth when it wasn’t _you_. How their faces seemed layered with perspiration, pupils quivering, palms no doubt clammed up as they obeyed whatever orders they’d be given. However, when Shadis approached you beneath that glaring sun, looming over your trembling frame as if the devil himself had risen from the pits of hell, nothing seemed clear anymore. Not for you.

“Where did a sad piece of a shit like you come from?!”

Faster than your mind had time to process its movement, your fist flew out from behind you, thumped against your chest and over the rapid pace of your heart.

“Trost district, sir!”

Shadis leaned in a little closer, scowl deepening along those harsh lines of his face.

“And, just why the hell are you here, you pathetic lump of rotten flesh?!”

Why were you there again? Why? Why?

Shit. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do much of _anything_ besides breathe and keep your fist pressed firm onto your chest in a crisp, practiced salute. It would be a miracle if you could respond with something coherent enough. To say something, anything intelligible.

“Answer me, maggot! If you’re this slow in battle, you’ll be nothing but fucking titan fodder! Why would someone like _you_ want to be soldier?!”

Answer. Answer. Answer.

Yes, you did find an answer, somehow.

“I-... I don’t know yet, sir!”

What had been the most humiliating thing -- besides your pitiful lack of motivation and drive -- was how you could feel the other recruits’ eyes zeroed-in on you. All hues and sizes, locked onto you, unspoken words lingering at the tips of their tongues, like some maelstrom of judgment brewing in silence.

God, how small and inadequate you felt.

“You don’t… know?” Shadis had echoed your words out into the ether, as if you’d said something so horribly outlandish and _wrong._

Glancing from the the corner of your eye, you met the gazes of your fellow recruits. Some more profound than others. First, there were bright emerald eyes and cocoa brown hair. Eren. Onyx eyes under long lashes, cool and level-headed, along with obsidian locks. Mikasa. Round and observant eyes of a clear cerulean-blue beneath blond fringe. Armin. And, then, there was a gaze of piercing gold, paired with ashen, undercut hair. Jean.

He was another recruit from Trost, you remembered, and studied the discoloration blooming across the center of his forehead from that headbutt he’d been gifted from the Head Commandant only minutes ago. Had it been another time, another place, you’d have laughed about the incident right then and there. Ease the tension, lighten the mood. Though, he seemed to be _sneering_ at you, or maybe it had just been his way of expressing curiosity.

His natural self, perhaps.

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS: MESS HALL CABIN

The food wasn’t anything special, to be completely honest.

Yet, if it’s all you’re going to be provided with for the next three years when it comes to food, then there’s no reason for you to complain about it. The mess hall cabin wasn’t quite impressive either, but your expectations weren’t exactly high from the start, especially with all those stories your mother had painted in your head from her time spent as a trainee.

So, there you were, taking in morsels of soup and observing how everyone seemed more interested in that Eren guy, eating up the stories and his vivid recollection of Shiganshina’s fall. You would honestly rather not hear the details of whatever horrors he’d faced, and chose not to crowd around him.

Your presence had encouraged quite the opposite reaction compared to Eren’s. Where he held clear purpose behind being a part of the Trainee Corps, a fire thriving in his veins, you were but a feather, fluttering wherever the wind willed. Spineless. When people whispered about Eren’s declaration to join the Survey Corps, there was always admiration in their words. Though, when they spoke of you, of how directionless you were, their voices were oddly intrigued, but more so baffled. Uncertain.

A red-haired girl by the name of Hannah had accompanied you for most of your time in the mess hall cabin on that first peculiar day, thankfully. Thus, you weren’t eating alone, at least. She was nice enough, soft-spoken and gentle -- perhaps, too gentle -- as you both shared your stories, until she too grew curious of all the commotion at Eren’s table and sauntered over.

Then, someone else took a seat next to you, claimed it without permission.

“Hmm?” you grunted, whipped your head around, and spotted the odd girl that the 104th quickly dubbed ‘Potato Girl’ at your side, of all people. A sheepish smile was plastered on her face, amber eyes sweeping over yours.

You were certainly confused, raising a brow and lowering your spoon back down. “H-hey? Sasha, right?”

“A-are you gonna... eat that?” is all she said, pointing at a loaf of bread that you hadn’t even touched yet, lucky enough for her.

You took the small saucer that it was resting on and held it out for her, generously. “Here. You have it, then.”

“Really?” Sasha’s face lit up so fast, so bright.

Nodding, you waved the bread nearer to her. “Yeah, of course. We’re gonna be comrades for the next three years, we have to watch out for each other… so, why not?”

No further explanation had been needed.

Snatching the bread from your fingers and scarfing it down in no more than five seconds, Sasha was, needless to say, elated. It was like watching some rabid animal, truthfully. To the point where you debated over keeping your distance as she chomped down on the baked yeast. Residual crumbs were scattered at the corners of her lips, and she gifted you a grin so wide that your own cheeks started to ache.

“You’re heaven-sent! An ANGEL. Most of the recruits didn’t bother to share at all, but you!” She launched herself at you, arms wrapped around your body, crumb-covered cheek pressed against your chest. “I LOVE YOU!”

Quite the declaration for a simple loaf of bread.

“You’re welcome…?” You were frozen stiff, unsure of how to react as you patted her back tentatively, fingers brushing against strands of deep auburn hair with the motion.

Across from you, there was the sound of amused laughter, and Hannah lifted a dainty hand over her mouth as she giggled, approaching.

Tickled just the same, you smiled back, shaking your head at the antics you'd just witnessed.

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS: MESS HALL CABIN

The training grounds bell had resounded to signal dismissal from the mess hall, and everyone gathered their trays, disposing of wasted food and exited the cabin for the night. With a mind still quite numb from the entire Trainee Corps experience, you only wished to retreat back to the barracks. To find the bed you’d been assigned and simply collapse upon it, sleeping those worries and jitters off.

After disposing of your tray, you headed for the mess hall’s exit, intrigued, however, when you find Jean, another recruit from Trost, standing on the deck. He was peering out onto the training grounds where recruits mingled freely for what remained of the night before curfew, his stance oddly still. And, you? You braved a chance, walking over and standing at his side, looking into those golden eyes and you followed where his gaze led.

Two figures side-by-side, lost in conversation.

Eren and Mikasa.

Swallowing, you found that your gaze lingered on Eren longer than it should’ve. There was an odd mixture of emotions bubbling in your chest, and the most prominent and _stubborn_ of all had been the admiration.

You cleared your throat -- an awkward sound -- before you glanced back at Jean.

“It’s crazy to think about what they’ve been through, isn’t it?” you started, idle arms folded across your belly. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if Trost were to endure that kind of tragedy.”

Jean was silent, still. You heaved a breath, staring down at where your civilian shoes stood upon those aged floorboards.

“Hmph,” Jean huffed. “You really think he’s that impressive.” He let out a condescending laugh. “Give me a break. He’s just out for a death wish, if you ask me.”

Curious, you looked up at him. “I just think his drive and clear purpose is something we should admire as future soldiers. If all of us even make it to graduation…”

Finally, Jean looked at you full-on, brows furled. “Talking like that, you don’t even seem to have that same _‘drive and purpose’_ that you admire so much.”

Then, you were quiet for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Jean raised a brow, quizzical, and humming thoughtfully.

The blond leaned his hip on the cabin’s sturdy timber frame.

“Which branch are you planning to join, anyway?” he inquired.

Breathing out, you bent forward, rested your arms next to where Jean was propped up.

You shrugged, timid. “...I don’t know, yet.”

“Huh?” Jean blew out, rather incredulously, no less.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. “And, I admit, it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” you started. “Why would anyone join the military without a plan set out for them? At first, I thought I knew. I thought that...joining the military was the only thing that made sense for me, it had been the only thing I knew since my mom was in the Garrison since I could even remember. I thought that maybe...”

“Wait… you’re telling me you joined because of your mom?” Jean shook his head, staring down at you as if he just couldn’t understand. “So, what--you don’t know how to think for _yourself?”_

Now completely nervous, you shifted your weight.

“And, I’m guessing all you know how to do is to put _yourself_ first, then?” you countered. “In other words… you want to be selfish.”

Jean smirked, suddenly, crooked and self-assured. “Why not? When it’s all said and done, what we should all be concerned about is our own survival. It’s the reason I’m gonna join the Military Police and find a cozy life in the interior. And, listen, if you’re smart enough, you’d want the same thing. You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead.”

“Yeah… I know that,” you said, as if you were convincing yourself.

He lithely pushed himself off the cabin’s rustic framework. “You can’t stand there and lie to me and say that you didn’t join so that you could find an easier way to survive, especially now.”

You nodded, eyes falling downcast.

“You’re right…” you admitted, calmer, softer. “I want to survive, more than anything.” Then, you searched for his gaze again, that piercing gold of it. “At least we found some common ground in _that.”_

“Whatever,” Jean turned, frowning a little, though he seemed far more reflective than annoyed. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS

He made it look easy during the initial ODM skill evaluation, that Jean Kirstein.

With his gear attached, booted feet completely off the ground and lifted by the training structure, Jean managed to hold his balance on his very first attempt. Truthfully, you were amazed by him, unable to tear your gaze away for too long, in fear of missing something spectacular. You had already witnessed a handful of recruits that were called up before him, and how they failed multiple times before finally getting the “hang” of it. Even Jaeger had seemed to be among those numbers of recruits that were in desperate need of practice if there was any chance for them to be considered for further training.

“Jean’s really a natural at this, isn’t he?” Marco commented next to you. “He’ll make it into the Military Police for sure at this rate. I just hope I can come close to it.”

You nudged Marco’s arm with your shoulder.

“C’mon, now,” you hummed, encouraging him. “Your evaluation went by without a hitch, too! Give yourself some credit.”

“Yeah, but I did almost fall backward once.”

You shook your head at him. “ _Once._ You still did better than most.”

Bashfully, Marco rubbed the back of his neck with a shy, grateful smile. “Well…”

The lovely Marco Bodt.

He was a breath of fresh air. Always the voice of reason in times when you needed it most.

By the time you and Marco wrapped up your conversation, Jean had passed the test with flying colors, ordered to step away from the training equipment, and you were raising an approving brow at him as he approached.

“Not bad, Kirstein,” you complimented, simply, as he took his previous place next to you and Marco.

“Yeah, man. You really know how to maintain your balance with the ODM gear,” Marco added, smiling wide and proud, and more enthusiastic than before.

“Tch.” Jean merely tsked, discontent settling on his face. “I could’ve done better.”

Your lips thinned, ready to counter him until the group’s instructor was calling out _your_ name next for the evaluation. More nervous than before, you steeled yourself, gathered your bearings and scraped up bits of confidence, and approached the structure, standing at the center and waiting as the instructor’s assistants attached your wires and gear. No sooner, they both stepped away, giving a thumbs up to another soldier before they started rotating a lever.

Slowly, your feet were being lifted off the ground, and only seconds afterwards, you lost all sense of spatial awareness and balance, tilting forward and nearly falling on your face before you caught yourself with your arms. The only thing you could think to blame it on was your nervousness, the pressure of all the eyes that were glued onto your form -- watching, judging. Still, when you were placed back on your feet, and released from the equipment, you somehow passed...

_...barely._

“That was actually pretty damn terrible,” Jean tutted louder than necessary once you returned, wincing when your elbow was playfully rammed into a fragile spot in his ribs.

“At least we all passed!” Marco announced, sweat dotting his temple.

 _Yes,_ you thought, smiling, _at least we passed._

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS

Your lungs were on fire, burning from the inside out.

It was another one of the Trainee Corps’ physical training tests, and the weight of your equipment hoisted on your back was nearly unbearable. Your legs were ablaze and you wondered how much further you could go. With the instructors riding alongside the recruits on their horses, it was hard not to feel at least some kind of pressure.

“Get a move on, recruits!” one of the instructors howled, horse trotting heavy at your side.

You heaved, somehow picking up the pace, fingers gripping onto the straps of your equipment.

How could you have hoped to make it if you couldn’t push yourself past whatever limits hindered you? How could you even survive out on the battlefield -- not that you ever looked forward to even being placed in that kind of predicament -- if you couldn’t make it a few miles on foot?

Push yourself. Go.

The sound of something toppling hard on the ground just behind you had drawn your attention, and the rough screech of someone hollering out in brief pain. It was instinctual, really, the way your legs halted, pivoting on your heels to catch a glimpse of the commotion.

And, there, crumpled on the ground, was Armin Arlert.

“Shit,” you hissed, shuffling toward him and crouching at his side. “C’mon, Arlert! On your feet!”

“Not this again. I-I’m fine,” Armin argued. “I can make it...you need to keep going.”

“I won’t leave you,” you grunted, throwing your arms around his waist and giving him a hefty tug to his feet.

“The instructors,” he mumbled as you set a pace, guiding him along. “They’re watching us. We’re gonna be--”

“Quiet!” you ordered, soft, yet firm enough for him to willingly comply. “I’ll take responsibility for this, if I have to! But, I won’t leave you behind, do you hear me? I won’t!” Armin was quiet, nearly wheezing and weak in your arms as you practically dragged him along to the course’s nearby end. You could feel the way his big blue eyes were roaming over your face, in awe and admiration. “Armin?” you called. “Do you hear me? I won’t leave you behind, and I don’t care what you say or what the instructors will do!”

Armin’s eyes widened, but you never let go of him until you were both crossing that finish line and collapsing on the dirt, ignoring that pressing glare of Head Commandant Shadis when he spotted you both, clipboard and pen in hand before he jotted _something_ down.

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS

It was hard to keep track of how long you were running around the training ground’s perimeter. Though, it was funny, in a strange way, to you. Because, you remembered the day when Sasha was ordered a similar punishment for a lighter offense, and you could’ve sworn you would’ve never brought the same kind of suffering upon yourself at the time.

And, now… now you were the one teetering at the edge of consciousness, dragging on your last lap of the night as the other trainees whispered about you. Called you foolish and dumb for taking on Armin’s portion the punishment as well, but you truly didn’t care.

 _Just as long as I keep running, then it will be over at some point,_ you motivated yourself.

It only took a misstep, one born by weariness, for you to trip up on your own clumsy feet, tumbling forward onto the ground. Cheek pressed in that dirt, you couldn’t find the strength to move any further, gasping and puffing before you decided that, even there on the ground, is perhaps the most comfort you’ve gotten in the last two hours. God, you didn’t even know how long you were there, splayed on the ground like that, before the sound of footsteps approached and someone was grousing to himself.

You stayed there, however, closing your eyes.

“Damn… how long have you been down there?”

Ah. Jean. You recognized that growl of his voice, and peeked open an eye. He was standing over you in his civilian clothes, one hand on his hip before he crouched down, tilting his head sideward.

“Shut-up,” you managed to rasp before he even spoke another stupid word, and Jean sighed at that, seeming to concede. He hooked an arm around the back of your knees and another encircled your shoulders as you croaked further orders, “I’d rather not… hear your voice, Kirstein.”

You might as well have been talking to the soil you were just lying prone upon.

Maybe dirt had a better chance of listening to you than Jean.

“Nearly everyone’s been talking about what you did,” he said, anyway, as you half expected him to while he hoisted you off the ground. “The way I see it, you really must be dumber than you look.”

Pulled into his arms, you peered up at him and offered a weak smile.

“I couldn’t...leave him behind. I’d do the same...if it were you,” you whispered. “I could...never...leave anyone…”

“You don't have to be so noble around me, alright.” His voice rumbled throughout his chest, sounding surprisingly soft. “You’re making me sick, you know?”

Setting his jaw, Jean blinked and took a moment to stare down at you, ready to say more, but his words were caught when he realized you were resting. Finally. You were quiet, at last.

“I still don’t understand why I’m the one that was ordered to come out and take you back… how annoying.”

 

\---

 

LECTURE ROOM

From what you could barely gather, the lecture had been nothing but a long, endless drone about military gear and weaponry, and their proper usage.

Honestly, your body and mind was still completely exhausted from the night before. Legs aching, eyelids drooping, and your mind was elsewhere searching for moments of respite and sleep, most of all. Everyone else seemed attentive enough, notebooks open and eyes set on the instructor and his expert illustrations and demonstrations scrawled across the blackboard.

Even Marco, seated next to you, was engrossed in the lecture’s content, though he often was always one of the more diligent trainees in the classroom. A true contender for nearly attaining the same marks in studies as Armin. Exhaling out a deeper breath, you lowered your pencil and tilted sideward, resting your head onto Marco’s shoulder. God, you couldn’t fight it any longer.

“Hey,” Marco started, visibly worried. “Don’t be angry with me for disturbing you but...this lecture is pretty important. You should try to stay awake, if you can.”

It had been because of the sight of his warm smile -- those scattered freckles stretching with the curl of his lips like stars, and how he carefully lifted you upright again -- that you _tried_ to pay attention.

Try for Marco, at least...

Though, when your gaze should’ve been focused on the instructor, as he drawled on about the twin blades’ capabilities and just how strong the composition of its steel was, you were instead transfixed on glancing around the lecture room. None the wiser, the instructor turned again, writing explanations out onto the blackboard, a book in his free hand for reference. Only then, with the instructor’s attention elsewhere, did Jean peer sideward from your other side, looking over at you and Marco. Tiredly, you blinked back at him before sighing and slumping forward, burrowing your face in the crook of your arms.

“Ah, well…” Marco whispered, leaving you be. “I’ll just lend you my notes afterwards, then.”

“Psst,” came a wary hiss of another trainee, Franz, seated behind the three of you on that day, unaware of the way Jean shot him a stare of forewarning. “You shouldn’t--”

“Leave her alone, man,” Jean recommended, coolly, clutching onto the Franz’s sleeve when it was obvious that he would’ve tried to nudge you awake.

And so, Franz -- with nothing but the best intentions, though not foolish enough to challenge one of the renowned hot-heads of the 104th -- left you alone, leaned back in his seat and peered sheepishly at Jean. “S-sorry…”

Jean only blinked at him, quiet, and averted his gaze back on Marco, brows furrowing at the knowing smile that was plastered lightly on the other’s face.

 

\---

 

TRAINING GROUNDS

It reminded you of a hot knife slicing through butter whenever you guided your blades across the nape of another mock-up of a wooden Titan for Winter training.

If there’s anything you could afford to take confident pride in, then it was your ability to wield your twin blades with enough notable finesse. Hardly, did you ever miss a target -- that is if you could manage to physically _get_ to one. If only your agility with the ODM gear was up to par with your poise and dexterity with the blades, then you would perhaps rank in the top ten.

Head Commandant Shadis was perched atop his usual post for observation, usual papers in hand, evaluating the 104th as all of you zipped among the training ground winter forest, slicing at every target presented.

“Ok… I can get that one, too,” you muttered to yourself, mid-air, eyes locked onto a nearby mock-up of a Titan through a sheet of sleet and snowflakes. “The more points I can get, the better my marks will be!”

Shooting one of your wires into a tree located just ahead of the target, you propelled yourself for it, blades brandished.

“That’s mine!” another voice roared somewhere too close at your side for comfort, vicious and sharp. Startled enough by it, you whirled your head around, eyes widened when they landed on the intrusive trainee gliding next to you, gloved hands clutching tight onto their own blades. Those determined emerald eyes, brunette hair that peeked beneath the hood of his winter uniform.

Eren Jaeger, of course…

Though, you truly did admire Eren’s dedication and passion, there were times when you couldn’t allow his drive to set you back. This was one of those times. You were there for your own reasons, too. Perhaps they weren’t as clear as his, but you were there to graduate, to find _your_ purpose by the end of those three harrowing years. You swallowed, using a burst of gas to propel yourself forward, bypassing Eren for only a moment in speed, but he was quick on your heels.

“Don’t get too hasty!” you taunted back. “Even if you do make it to the target before me, I bet your strike depth wouldn’t come close to mine!”

“Oh, yeah?!” Eren yelled, closer than before.

Shit. He was fast, nowhere near being the fastest among the 104th but, he was too fast for _you._ However, he was careless with his tunnel vision desperation, nonetheless… Because, he was about to collide into a stray tree.

Alarmed, you called for him. “Watch out--!”

Ah.

Too late.

Eren hit that tree at full, bruising force, clumps of snow toppled down, thick bark dug into skin, and his gear clattered on impact before he began his long descent to the forest floor.

“Eren!” You retracted your wire, gliding downward for the snow-covered ground instead. With graceless form, you stumbled on your feet when your boots sunk deep into the snow, barely catching your balance before you sprinted toward Eren, assessing how he was sprawled prone on the white ground, motionless. There was a blur of movement in front of you -- another person clad in a trainee uniform -- calling out to him before you were able to process who it even was.

Mikasa?

“Eren!” she breathed, swift and crouching at his side faster than you had the time to trudge and high-step through that knee deep snow to make it over. You were panting by then, equipment heavy at your hips as you watched Mikasa reach down, hoisting Eren upright again.

“Are you okay?” she muttered, lowly. “Are you in pain?”

The scowl that was carved on Eren’s face, and how utterly irritated he seemed to receive aid at the hands of another, was something so profound that you hesitated to come closer.

“U-um,” you uttered, instead, peering down at the two.

Mikasa turned to you next, onyx eyes roaming over the soft color of yours, hands still rested atop Eren’s snow-covered shoulder despite the venomous glare he was wearing. It was a look that was so mean, so antagonizing, that you couldn’t find the grit to bear it, staring at Mikasa instead.

“Is he alright?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Eren’s voice was nothing but a grate, furious, fueled by pride that was so easily wounded. “I’m fine…”

Flinching, your breath was caught, while Mikasa pointed him a wordless stare.

How many times had she done this with him before?

The emerald-eyed trainee seemed to regather himself, glancing between the two of you before he pulled himself away from Mikasa’s touch. Snow crunched beneath his weight when he moved to stand, brushing melted slush and flakes from his attire.

“...S-sorry,” he gritted out, gaze downcast, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I just… I need to improve, and having people worrying about me like I can't do anything right just… _ticks me the hell off.”_

The last portion of his words had been feral.

Mikasa’s expression morphed into something closer to unbridled concern, still. “But, don’t push yourself.”

Eren turned, stalking off from the two of you. “I’m not pushing myself enough.”

 

\---

 

HEADQUARTERS: MESS HALL

Three entire years.

Three years worth of training that amounted to this very moment.

The graduation ceremony was finally commenced and finished hours ago. It was a time where embers drifted from the lit torches, flitting across the prussian blue sky above. Rows upon rows of trainees -- two hundred and eighteen soldiers, more fittingly -- were lined upon the barracks’ courtyard, standing at attention before the present instructors as they announced those final words, and called forth the top trainees.

No, you hadn’t ranked in the top ten, though it was never a goal within your radar from the start. Attaining twelfth out of the graduating 104th was something worth being proud of, still. Only Ymir had been ahead of you at eleventh, and even then, you suspected that she hadn’t shown her true potential throughout training, what with the fact that she was always behind Christa. Yet, you could learn to understand that -- the reason why she’d been dedicated to a single person. When you looked to Jean or Marco, and even Hannah and Franz, you could truly grasp that concept. Could respect it.

“I thought for sure that you were gonna rank in the top ten,” Franz shared with you, clutching onto his tankard and drawing you out of the deep reverie of sorts.

“Me, too,” Hannah agreed, chirping in close at his side. “I mean, your blade handling and striking marks are the only ones that are up to par with Annie’s! And, she’s number three.”

Flattered, but never delusional with the extent of your true capabilities, you smiled in gratitude for their faith in you, but shook your head to deny it all.

“If we’re being honest, those are probably my only redeeming qualities,” you confessed, lifting your drink and looking over the rim’s edge. “Everyone knows I’m probably the worst at ODM…” you smirked, snorting quietly. “I’m probably worse than Arlert.”

Hannah sucked in a breath, sending you a look that was barely short of an outright scolding.

Chuckling, you waved her off. “Armin knows I’d do anything for him, I was just making a point, Hannah.”

“Of course, you were,” she whispered, noting that playful glint in your eye, a type often reserved for rare moments.

“Oh--uh, I’m gonna refill my drink,” Franz said, jutting a thumb at both you and Hannah. “Do either of you want me to refill yours while I’m at it?”

Peering down into the contents of your awfully light tankard, you nodded up at the male, and held out what little was left of your celebratory beverage. Hannah did the same, grinning up at him for longer than she truly had to. As if you wouldn’t have noticed, sending her another knowing wriggle of your brows that she so bashfully avoided. Her skin, usually of a paler palette, was painted a delicate shade of rose-red over those freckles that too often reminded you of Marco.

Speaking of which, you perked up, searching the mess hall’s crowded expanse for two particular figures.

“Hm,” Hannah hummed, observing you with an expert eye. “Jean’s seated over there,” she pointed out over your shoulder, thin brows pulling closer together. “Actually, I don’t think he’s moved from that spot all night. You’d think he’d at least be excited to be ranked in the top ten.”

You grunted out a noise of acknowledgement, gaze sweeping over the way Jean slumped forward at that lone table. How he scowled to himself, mumbling words that were certainly unintelligible from the distance. It was natural, second nature, truly, when you excused yourself from Hannah in favor of approaching the ashen-haired soldier. Claiming the spot across from him was easy for you, as well. There were no disapproving remarks dripping from his tongue as you plopped down near him. No blazing glare, no hints of any complaints. None of that. He accepted your company. Welcomed it.

He didn’t even bother to protest when you reached across, stealing his tankard away when it was quite obvious he wasn’t going to consume any more. You took a brief sip of his preferred drink, lowering it down once more and running your eyes along those distorted lines of his face. There was something so distant, so morose about him.

“How are you, Jean?” you spoke with cautious warmth, arms folded upon the tabletop, face aglow by the single, flickering candlelight when you sent him an even warmer smile than that. “Congratulations on ranking sixth, by the way. I know… that you worked for this, nearly got yourself -- us -- killed a couple of times during training, and look... Now, you can finally--”

He spared you a once-over, quick and sharp. “How’d I rank lower than _him?”_

Again, with this?

All of your words were stuck, then, lodged in your throat and so uncomfortable as you shifted.

“Who cares?” you muttered, tone disgruntled and true. “I mean, you’re not…”

You fell quiet, tracing a finger across the cold lip of the drink you’d stolen from him. When you didn’t speak up anymore, voice lost, Jean heaved a knowing sigh. Three years had given him enough time to unravel you and your habits.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You glanced up at him, blinking.

“If you know what’s best for you, you’d join the Military Police.” He clenched his jaw, looked away from you and down at his hands. “With me and Marco.”

You smiled faintly, voice kind. “Are… are you asking me to come with you? To _stay_ with you?”

Jean smacked his teeth, irritated behind that flush of color that dusted evenly across the bridge of his nose, and quick to deny whatever it was you were alluding to. Joking or not.

“Wasn’t it your goal to find a way to live comfortably?” he reminded you. “Or did that change since the last time we spoke about it?”

He hadn’t forgotten that night -- those words spoken under that old cabin’s porch lantern.

Ah. Neither did you, nor would you _ever._

Chest swathed in sweet cotton, your gaze softened. “Even if I wanted to join the Military Police, I wouldn’t be able to. I ranked twelfth out of the 104th. Wasn’t even in the top ten to have that kind of luxury. You know that, Jean.”

He did. He had to.

“So, what do you plan on doing, then?” His voice was quieter. “Joining the Garrison?”

There was a ponderous shrug of your shoulders, a calm glint in your eyes.

“I don’t see the harm in that,” you told him, honest, as always. 

   

_’You can’t stand there and lie to me  
and say that you didn’t join so that you could find an easier way to survive, especially now.’_

_‘You’re right… I want to survive, more than anything.  
At least we found some common ground in that.’_

 

Jean inhaled a long string of air, chest slowly expanding in a manner that suggested he was feeling quite pensive toward the matters at hand.

Toward you.

“At least that maniac Jaeger didn’t influence you too much with his suicidal speech about joining the Survey Corps earlier,” he quipped roughly, resting his chin in his palm once more, eyes locked onto yours, and watched how the smirk you wore for him evolved into airy laughter -- a tinkling sound that spilled over the clamor of the mess hall -- and how it surrounded you both with its carefree warmth.

No sooner, Marco approached from his time spent mingling among peers, standing tall by the table you and Jean were occupying, tankard in his hand as well. He was all smiles, freckles, and a pair of twinkling, sienna brown eyes when he glanced between the two of you, picking up on that solemn, odd air without a second to spare for much else.

“C’mon, you two,” he beckoned. “We’re _graduating,_ you shouldn’t be sulking together like this!”

A warm, barely-there smile curved at Jean’s lips. “We’re not sulking. We’re just being _realists._ ”

Marco chuckled as he took a seat next to Jean. “If that’s what it takes to make you feel better.”

Yes, being together did that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, thank you for reading all of _that_ , if you managed to! Please, keep in mind that the following chapters will have varying length. I'm not saying that the others will be extremely short (the second chapter is quite lengthy as well), but all of them might not be as long as this first chapter.
> 
> And as for the fic's summary...I'm just bad at writing those, forgive me.
> 
> But thank you again for taking the time to read this piece.  
> 


	2. [Year 850] Trust

TROST DISTRICT: HEADQUARTERS

When that odd bolt of lightning roared and struck the land, and the earth trembled like it did five years ago, there was clarity in your mind.

All you wanted was to _survive_ the breach of Wall Rose.

“Just follow your training! Split into groups!” A captain of the Garrison’s voice was nearly strained to the point of breaking. “Under the Garrison’s orders, you will resupply combatants, relay orders, and kill Titans! Garrison intercept forces will form the vanguard! Trainees, led by the supply team, will comprise the middle guard! The Garrison’s elite forces will form the rearguard. Also, messengers report that the advance team has been neutralized. The outer gate has been compromised, and Titans have entered the city. In other words, the Armored Titan may appear at any time, to destroy the inner gate!”

There was mumbling among the fresh troops, questions, wavering voices, and prominent fear had been so thick in the air. God, your knees, they were nothing but liquid by then. White-hot terror shot right up your veins, gave you a tainted high that you could’ve done well without.

_More mumbling, whimpering, crying…_

“Silence!” the captain demanded, deep-set eyes brimming with an odd fusion of raw terror and determination. “As we speak, the vanguard is engaging them. We have but one objective in this fight: to defend Wall Rose with our lives until the evacuation is complete! Also, as you are all surely aware, desertion in the face of the enemy is punishable by death. Mark this well, and fight to your last dying breath! Dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!”

Everyone saluted and dispersed from formation, scrambling this way and that.

You were assigned to be leader of squad 40, with Hannah, Franz, and two other trainees under your command from the 104th. You guessed it was based off your ranking, if anything, though you couldn’t be completely sure, though you knew that you had to follow through, had to understand that there were other lives depending on your word and actions.

But, what of Jean and Marco?

You had to find them, had to see them.

Amid all the chaos unfolding at headquarters, you weaved through the frantic string of trainees, eyes darting around. Where? Where-- A hand clutched onto your jacket, halting you in your stride. Startled, you twirled to find Hannah, evident fear etched onto her usually smiling face.

“W-we...we need...we need to--” she tried to speak, tried to use her diction, and her hand quivered where she was still holding onto your jacket, as if you were some anchor to keep her rooted there.

“Hannah,” you uttered back, placing a steady hand -- as steady as you could manage -- atop hers. “It’s...it’s okay. We’re gonna be fine.”

She nodded, though it was more an action of reflex more than surefire confidence in your words and overall chances of survival together. Emerging from the rush of trainees, Franz stood behind Hannah and placed hands on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. It would’ve took a fool not to notice the way her vice-grip on your attire loosened at his touch. A type of comfort you couldn’t offer.

You glanced between them, then rapped your knuckles against one of the cylinder units at your hip.

“Did you both resupply your gas?” you prodded. “Check your equipment. Replace your blades, too.”

“Right!” Franz spoke up for your entire squad, abiding by the simple order you’d given them. “Let’s go…” He peered down at an awfully quiet red-head, as the other two squadmates made way for the supply room. “Hannah…” he whispered, gently tugging her along.

Gulping, you watched as your squad retreated for the supply room, and their lives were already so _heavy_ in your hands…

“Hey, Jean…!” You heard Eren calling from a short distance. “...What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” And then, Jean was riled up, voice instantaneous and thunderous as he retorted. “Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish! Since you wanted to join the Survey Corps, I’m sure you’re ready to become Titan food anytime! But, I was to go to the Interior tomorrow!”

Were they at odd ends, again? At a time like this?

Curious more than surprised at the occurrence, you gravitated toward the direction of the untimely dispute, boots quick and light upon the cobblestone ground only to come across the sight of Eren pinning Jean roughly to a column. Concerned for him, though well aware that it wasn’t your place to intervene, you observed them. Mikasa had been watching from her own farback place, perhaps more interested in Eren’s wellbeing and rationality, though your eyes were set on Jean.

“In the past three years, we almost died so many times…” the brunet boy fumed. “Some of us really did die. Some ran, and some were kicked out… but, we made it, didn’t we?! You’ll survive today, and go to the Interior tomorrow, right?!”

But, then, he spotted you. Finally, _finally._ That gleaming gold of his gaze, like melted bullion, fell upon your lone frame, and even you could see the way his eyes widened as if he’d found what he’d been searching for.

“I was looking for you,” he admitted aloud, simply.

Ah. And so he _was._

“Jean…” Were words even been needed in that moment? When the both of you seemed so aware of the situation, soldiers scrambling around you, nothing but white noise in the background of your raging thoughts, looming fears, and crippling doubts. “Was Marco assigned to your squad, at least?”

“Yeah…” he breathed that confirmation, watched the way your chest emptied itself; worries and uncertainty released from you.

“How is he?”

“Level-headed. Strong. What’d you expect, huh?”

A smile slid onto your lips, slow and unsteady, but real.

“That’s good,” you sounded relieved, then. “Can you just...keep an eye on each other?”

He quirked a thin brow high, responding, “And, who’ll be there to watch you?”

He was always quick with his comebacks.

The wind howled, trembled with gusts of bitterness and dust and _cold._

“Damn it,” Jean cursed, suddenly, teeth gritted and firm fists curled tight at his sides. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! We weren’t supposed to--we weren’t…” He trailed off, breath labored with despondency ridden across him in the face of possible death -- separation -- and you didn’t blame him for it. Couldn’t find a reason to berate him for his outburst, because you understood.

“Listen…” your tone was gentler, hardly above a whisper as you gathered the courage to hold his gaze. His shirt and uniform jacket were still wrinkled where Eren had grabbed him. It would’ve been labeled a trivial thing had anyone took the time to notice how your dainty, unsteady hands had reached for him, smoothing out those lines, adjusting his collar. Though, what had been the most surprising thing of all, was his silence, and the way his adam’s apple bobbed only a little. “What we’re about to do and see out there...it’ll be real. We can’t treat this like another training course, or try to ignore it.”

Jean was silent, eyes darting across you.

“People might…” You swallowed, dryly. “People might not...be as fortunate as others when the battle starts, and there’s nothing we can do for all of them. But, for us, we can at least take charge in our own lives, right?”

It was so unlike you.

All those days you spent throughout three years of grueling training were mostly dedicated to lending a helping hand to your comrades, and yet, you were finally coming to terms -- as earth-shattering as they were -- with the fact that not everyone could be saved. You couldn’t be there for all the incidents, couldn’t grab all of them by the collar of their jackets and drag them away from whatever danger loomed over them. You just couldn’t…

Where would you gather the strength, the courage, the knowledge, required for any of that? God, you were just a trainee, fresh out the Trainee Corps with no real experience under your belt. All you _could_ do, however, was find comfort in the thought of those you hold dearest surviving.

“So, before we go out there,” you took a breath, felt it shake and burn in your lungs. “Let’s make a promise.”

His brow twitched.

“Honestly, do you think we have time for anything like that--!”

“I just want to _hear_ it! Is that too much to ask?”

Jean choked on whatever words he meant to spew back at you. Desperation scratched in your voice and splintered your words into broken syllables, and perhaps, the sound of that was more painful than all the cries for mercy the other trainees were chanting all around. Rapid footfall of military-issued boots fell upon the cobblestone, rushing to their assigned posts and squads surrounding you both, and yet, there you stood.

Of all the places you could’ve been, all the people you could’ve spent those last moments standing beside. Though, in the end, it was…

“Fine,” Jean conceded for you, somehow having weighed the situation and your choice. “Promises are nothing but disappointment waiting to happen, but if it’s all you’re asking for, then…” Huffing out a breath, he pointed you a look, waiting patiently for once.

“No. It doesn’t have to be a promise, if it makes you feel that way,” you took back the request, ignored the small and confused _‘huh?’_ that slipped from Jean’s throat, and you held his gaze instead. “We’ll make it back, together. And...and tomorrow,” you added, smiling briefly though it slipped and fell. “You and Marco will finally be able to join the Military Police, and I’ll find my place with the Garrison. We’ll make it back.”

There was no uncertainty in your assumption when you told him that. A part of you hoped it sounded confident enough to convince him that maybe, just maybe, the two of you _would_ make it back in one piece. There were footsteps coming in toward you, Hannah and Franz, returning back to be by their leader’s side again. You.

Time was dwindling down.

“Please,” you said, carefully. “Just...let me hear that from you.”

Jean sent you another glance, something softer, more unreadable.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’ll… make it back.”

And you, now soothed, exhaled some air that you were holding inside for far too long. All you could do was watch him as he turned on his feet. No doubt he could feel the burn of your stare roaming across his back, where the Trainee Corps insignia was displayed upon it.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

The retreat bell had finally rang throughout the district’s expanse, and it couldn’t have sounded at a worse time.

There was no resupply of gas for anyone to make it over the wall. The resupply team was either dead or their numbers were ruled by spineless cowards who were still hauled up at Headquarters. And, you -- all of squad 40, to be exact -- was nowhere to be seen, either. Jean wondered about where you were more often than he anticipated he would. How could he not? Comrades were dropping dead left and right, bodies littered the roads, stained the buildings with that dreaded crimson-red of blood, and you were _right..._

 

_‘People might not be as fortunate as others when the battle starts, and there’s nothing we can do for all of them.  
But, for us, we can at least take charge in our own lives, right?’_

 

There was nothing he could do.

He could only stare at the palm of his hand as the clouds burst, rain pelting onto what remained of the trainees and the roof shingles they all stood upon.

“Jean! what should we do?” Connie belted once the rain had ceased.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Jean concluded, lifting his face from his hands. “They finally issued the order to retreat, but without more gas, we can’t climb the walls. So, we’re all going to _die_ …”

It felt wrong. To say that word and think of you.

To ponder over whether or not you were even still breathing, somewhere out there, still roaming those alleys. Were you alone? Lost? Injured? Even worse, alone _and_ injured? He knew you were strong enough. Come to think of it, nearly all of the 104th were aware of your skills. Being ranked at twelfth out of two hundred and eighteen graduates was no small feat, though he learned quickly that anyone's rank hardly mattered.

  

_‘We’ll make it back, together.’_

 

“What a stupid life…” With fingers curled and buried deep in the roots of his hair, Jean clenched his eyes tight. “If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve told her how I felt about her.”

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT: HEADQUARTERS

A Titan, fighting and killing other Titans?

It seemed completely irrational. Unheard of. Like some odd tale that a child would spew. Something simply untrue and false. And yet, there you were, ogling up at the height and very, very _real_ mass of Titan flesh, straggling brunet locks and searing eyes of emerald. Blood-curdling screams, battle cries, constantly ripping through its throat.

There weren’t many opportunities for you to take, to find an opening for you to make your escape to HQ. However, that fighting Titan _was_ your chance. Yes, you could make a run while the rest of the Titans were getting obliterated.

It _was_ your chance.

And so you ran.

You sprinted across the ground as it grumbled beneath the weight of those scrambling Titans, fighting among their own kind, ignoring you. God, you _ran._ Weaving around and across the debris of collapsed structures, shattered glass, and the blood...so much blood that your mind could no longer bother to process the sight of it.

When you rushed through headquarter’s supply room doors, creaking them open with a harsh grate and exerting the last of your desperate strength to step into safety, there was nothing but silence that awaited you. The area wasn’t empty, no. There were plenty of trainees packed inside and _alive_ , holding their cylinder units and refueling them, but they were all quiet upon your entrance, frozen. Though, how could you truly blame them for reacting that way? For all they knew, it could’ve very well been another Titan intruding on them, what with the way you barged in.

And yet, it was just _you_ , another "lucky" trainee panting and exhausted.

“H-how?” a voice echoed, familiar to your ears.

Another's tone rang throughout the space, more gruff. “You made it back...”

“Marco...Jean,” came your breathless reply, peering at where the two were seated atop stray crates as they were in the middle of refueling.

What of the others? You glanced around the room, swept over the sight of familiar faces you’d seen throughout those three years of training. Some were missing, too many, in fact. What of Eren? What of his entire squad? You stepped further inside of the supply room on aching feet, noticed the vaporizing Titan bodies that were scattered around, and you felt your throat tighten, steps halted. Anxiety was building all over again and your knees gave way, descending to the ground as your gear clattered, swords falling at your sides.

“What...what happened--?” you started out of breath, but the abrupt sound of shuffling boots upon the ground were approaching you fast and had clipped your question short.

A part of you expected Marco to be the one to drop to his knees next to you. A part of you expected Marco to be the one to reach out and hold you.

But, it was Jean.

“You’re alright,” he assessed, lowly. “You’re… _alive._ ”

His hands were on your shoulders, trembling against the feel of you. Real, _warm_ , and breathing still. His eyes, that gleam of gold, darted across your frame, searching for hidden injuries, and it was his voice shuddering out your name. Disbelief. Worry. However, Marco was close behind him, crouching at your side as well, a hand light on your back.

“We all thought you were dead,” said the freckled boy. “We thought your entire squad was wiped out... like Armin’s.”

Wiped out.

Squad 40.

Hannah. Franz.

_Left behind. Dead._

A sob tore from your throat, then. The mere thought of them, and how your squad was slaughtered before your eyes. How you...left her, Hannah, behind. No..no, no, no. It was never meant to end that way. They trusted you, they’d told you that when you stood upon the roof of one of Trost’s buildings, where you waited for the signal to commence the vanguard operation. It had been that way since training. Hannah confided in you so many times before, praised your skills, reminded you of how much faith she had in you among all the others. And now…

“They’re gone,” you choked pitifully, eyes broken. “Squad 40. I couldn’t...I couldn’t save them. But, I tried to convince Hannah to come with me, but she wouldn’t--” you gulped, felt your voice dying. “She wouldn’t leave Franz’s body behind. And, I left her. I left her behind like a coward because I could only think of myself…”

“H-hey,” Marco’s quiet voice resounded next to you. “You can’t blame yourself for that. There was only so much you could do, I’m sure of it,” he comforted, his palm rubbing circles along your spine.

Oddly silent, Jean observed you, listened, still holding your shoulders as he soaked in all of your words and undue guilt. He noted how being “selfish”, as you had once labeled him, caused you so much pain in the end.

“How could anyone...ever put their trust in me again?” you whispered shakily, staring up at both Jean and Marco as they shielded you. “How could anyone feel safe with their lives in my hands?”

A harsh breath fell from Jean’s lips. His countenance took on its familiar scowl.

“I wish you'd stop talking nonsense,” he muttered evenly. “Listen, I’m not any better than you are.”

Baffled, your gaze shifted to Jean, and perhaps he wasn’t ready for the sight of it, swallowing thickly at your sudden intensity and how your voice followed suit:

“What are you saying?” you uttered under a small breath, despite his falter.

Marco, equally as thrown off as you, darted his eyes to Jean as well, prepared to search for merit in his next words.

“I couldn’t do anything to save our comrades from dying right in front of my eyes.” Jean licked his lips, a nervous action. “At least you fought. I’d trust anyone that’s able to take a chance like that, even if it all falls apart.”

“How do you know I fought?” you managed to rasp.

Coolly, Jean gestured toward your idle blades, left askew and forgotten at your sides. “You only have one set of blades left, and the ones attached to your hilts now are dull and chipped,” he explained. “So, you had to have put up a fight. Knowing you, you probably fought before you ever decided to leave anyone behind.”

It was true. He was right.

You did _fight._

“Besides,” Jean added. “You said that we’d make it back together. So I knew you’d fight.” The ashen-haired trainee stood, then. “I still don’t know where you want to make it back to, exactly, but…”

Marco moved to stand as well, grasped your arm gently, and guided you to your feet with him.

“What Jean’s trying to say is that,” Marco gifted you a sweet smile, one of relief and affection. “We’re just glad you made it back to us.”

Ah. You always would.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT: HEADQUARTERS

“That Titan,” you began, curiously, looking down at Armin as he kindly inspected your ODM gear. “What do you make of it? Where did it come from? And, why is it...fighting?”

Fingers pausing against your scraped and dented equipment, Armin lifted his gaze, an inquisitive expression taking over those soft lines of his face.

“No one knows anything about it, or where it might’ve come from, but…” He pushed himself up from his crouch at your hip level, cerulean blue filling your vision with his new height. “It’s giving us enough time to resupply while it’s eliminating all the Titans that are encroaching on HQ. Given the amount of people that’s hauled in here, it’s only natural that we would draw a large amount of Titans to this area as well, but that fighting Titan is keeping their numbers at bay for now.” Armin swallowed, thick brows pulling together. “Besides that...there’s not much we know. But taking advantage of its presence will give us enough time to scale the walls and regroup with the rest of the forces. We can ruminate over its odd behavior later when we’re all free from harm.”

Though your heart was laced with fear of the unknown, you nodded, and peered back down at your gear, adjusting it against your waist.

“Speaking of scaling the wall,” you said next, carefully. “Is my gear functioning well enough to make it?”

No further words were truly needed when you read the transparent look on the blond’s face. How his lips thinned and he shook his head, hair swaying with the motion.

“S-sorry, but, although your gear is still able to function, it’ll pose as too much of a risk for you to keep using it in its current state,” he advised, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “At some point, it’ll eventually fail without careful usage.”

So, no hope, then.

“I see,” you mumbled defeatedly, huffing out a breath, shoulders rolling forward. “It was probably ruined when I took a fall while trying to run from that ten-meter Titan that attacked my squad. Should’ve known it was beyond repair when it wouldn’t shoot out my grappling hooks. There was a delay in its response, so I just reverted to escaping on foot as best I could.”

By the time you looked back at your friend, the solemn aura of him had taken you aback.

“Armin?” you called.

Said trainee blinked at you. “So, that’s how you made it back.”

All you could do was hum in affirmation, hands wringing together.

“Well,” Armin breathed, gaining strength in his voice once more. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You, of all the people here, know what it feels like to be the lone survivor as well. You know the feeling of guilt that comes with it...like I do. And, I saw Hannah, while I was out there. I know you tried to save her, but she wouldn’t--”

“Hey.” Eyes softened with sympathy, you shook your head. “We can’t dwell on it now. O-okay?”

“Right…” he agreed, eyes falling downcast.

“Guys!” came Marco’s voice, approaching the two of you and his gear refueled. “Everyone’s starting to head out to scale the wall. We should get going, too. Did either of you resupply your gas?”

Both you and Armin shared a brief, uneasy look. One that Marco had spotted with trained keenness.

“What’s wrong?” he prodded, glancing between the two of you.

Gently, you tapped at your ODM gear. “It’s not in the best shape, I’m afraid.”

“And, why am I not surprised,” another rough voice chimed in as Jean headed toward the three of you after Marco. “You busted your ODM gear already, huh?”

You turned his way, mouth shaping for more words to counter with, though Armin was quick to speak up in your place.

“Her gear isn’t busted, it’s just… in a fragile state,” he clarified. “It can still be used, but it’s best if she’s careful about how she uses it from here on out.”

“You’re saying that her gear could really break at any moment?” Marco asked.

Nodding, Armin steeled his expression into one of a ponderous nature, the gears in his brain churning once more.

“I’ll take her ODM gear and give her mine, instead,” Jean offered, decidedly, already reaching down to unfasten his equipment. “If anyone is able to use that broken gear and survive, it’s me.”

“No, wait--” you blurted in defiance, stepping over and clasping onto his wrist where you halted him. “Just--what are you doing? That’s not necessary, I’ll be fine.”

“Like hell you will,” Jean argued sternly, catching the gaze of your eyes and how undeniably worried they were. Though, even the sight of _that_ did little to deter him, what with his voice ordering with finality, “Trust me and give me your ODM gear. We’re swapping. You’ll get yourself hurt or killed out there if your gear gives out on you.”

“What if it malfunctions while _you’re_ using it?” Your tone was ridden with wariness, and your concern for him remained unhidden, practically worn on your sleeve.

“She’s right, Jean,” Marco interjected, sounding just as perturbed as you.

Even then, Jean slid those eyes of golden-amber along both you and Marco.

“If that happens, then I’ll come up with something,” he declared, and there was little else you could do then, starting to remove your ODM gear and giving him what remained of your trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm sorry if this is... lacking in some way(s).  
> It's been a (long) while since I committed myself to a chaptered fic, and I'm well aware that it's far from perfect, but I'll try to keep trudging through in hopes of improving along the way.
> 
> Thank you for reading, despite that.  
> It means a lot :)


	3. [Year 850] Eye-Water

WALL ROSE INTERIOR

After finally escaping Trost and out of danger’s way within Wall Rose’s Interior, you doubted any trainee would be willing to return to that death-ridden battlefield. And yet, when all of the squads were ordered into formation by the Garrison captains, you were expecting to be thrown into the fray once more as you dutifully stood at attention. Fellow soldiers conversed and grumbled among themselves:

“A plan to retake Trost?”

“We have no way to seal that hole.”

“What is the brass thinking?”

“Going into Trost would be our deaths!”

“Since we can’t seal the hole, all we can do is die defending Wall Rose’s gate.”

It was all, perhaps, more than likely _true._

That is, unless, any soldiers were willing to plan an escape, desperate enough to desert their sworn duty to serve and fight, and you could only hope that there weren’t many soldiers of that weak mindset. The others that remained of the 104th were present as well, spread out, awaiting further orders among the crowd. Regardless, you could _still_ pick out Daz’s frantic voice nearby, and how he filled Marco’s -- and everyone else’s-- ears with his complaints and cowardice:

“No! I don’t want to die!” Daz howled in the distance. “Let me see my family!”

From your place within formation, you tuned out all noise and looked to the wall, feeling a vortex of wind picking up at your ankles. Dust whirled and dispersed, and you took in a deep breath when your lungs began to burn because you simply _weren’t_ breathing enough. Still, you wondered of many things:

Would they really send you all back out there to fight?

What would they do about that peculiar, raging Titan?

How many wouldn’t make it back this time around?

Stomach clenching with those thoughts, you swallowed hard and tried to straighten your spine. Regain your composure. Though perhaps, it was the time for you to surrender to those fears that dwelled within. Maybe it was a time when you _could_ allow that lump in your throat to grow and burst with your worries. There were no ambling Titans within Wall Rose’s Interior (for now), and the premises was brimming with as many seasoned soldiers -- if not more -- as there were green trainees trembling in their boots.

Therefore, at that moment, for the first time in hours since the battle began in Trost, you could afford to worry and repent.

Exhaling, you lowered your lashes, eyes closing.

Rest.

Breathe.

_Survive._

“ATTENTION!”

You gasped at that outburst, watery eyes opening so wide and alert as you stared up at the figures standing atop the wall.

Commander Pixis of the Garrison?

Soldiers and trainees alike ceased their scurrying, mouths clamped shut, others left agape in awe.

They were silent all the same.

“I shall now explain the plan to retake Trost!” Pixis announced further, voice somehow carrying over the distance with clarity. “For this mission, our objective is to seal the hole where the gate was destroyed. Let me introduce you to the one who will seal the hole for us…” The older Commander turned, gesturing toward a particular soldier close at his side. “From the Trainee Corps, Eren Jaeger!”

A violent skip of your heartbeat nearly did you in before any Titan could.

“Eren?” His name toppled from your lips without the faintest of permission.

Wasn’t he...missing? Presumed dead?

Hushed words were exchanged between the soldiers.

“He is the result of a top-secret project to turn humans into Titans,” Pixis continued. “He can create and control a Titan’s body! He will become a Titan, pick up the giant boulder by the shattered gate, carry it over, and seal the hole! Your job will be to protect him from Titans while he moves the boulder!”

Heart taking on a rapid pace, you kept your eyes trained on that distant sight of Commander Pixis and Eren, and you tried to understand the situation for what it _truly_ was.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT: ATOP THE INNER WALL

Feeling surprisingly more disgusted than horrified, you peered down at the masses of clustered Titans that were gathered at the town’s edge. They were all lured together by prior orders that instructed all available soldiers to keep any Titans away from Eren while he transformed into his Titan body. Long, monstrous arms were stretched upward, hungry mouths open, fingers straining just to try and grab hold of the soldiers that were lined along the wall, and they were barely out of reach from those humanoid beasts’ grasps.

Well. Good thing you weren’t down there, hanging against the wall or running along those streets as live bait. Instead, being ordered to remain upon the safety of the wall with the resupply team seemed far more appealing.

All was going smooth enough at first, until you caught sight of both Annie and Connie standing at the wall’s edge together, peering out to the distance. Their eyes were fixed on something, someone down far down on Trost’s streets. It was the look on their faces, and how they seemed concerned, scared, more than anything, that unnerved you to the point of needing to know what they were staring at. Only then, did your feet seem to move on their accord, shuffling over to them with a swiftness you hadn’t been aware of.

“Annie, Connie?” you voiced aloud, glancing curiously between the two. “Something...wrong? Do you need to refuel? Did the Titans get to Eren, or--”

“It’s Jean! He’s in trouble!” Connie blurted, all panic and vocal fright.

Every ounce of your blood ran cold, like liquid ice in your veins. And to think there was a time when you once believed that there was no greater sense of fear than staring up at an insatiable, bloodthirsty Titan as it loomed over you.

Sweat coated Connie’s skin as he pointed out a finger. “Look!” he demanded. “He’s hauled up in that building down there!”

You were frozen, muscles taut and tone stiffer. “What--Why?!”

Connie shot you a glance.

Those round eyes of his seemed struck with fear as he replied:

“We think his gear might be broken!”

It was exactly what you feared from the start.

It was all your fault for letting him take your damaged gear.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault… _again._

Were you nothing but a walking liability claiming the title of a “reliable” soldier? God, it felt like it.

“No way...” your tone wavered as if left your lips, and for whatever reason -- whatever instinctive reflex -- you took a few daring steps closer to that edge of the wall. Gaining a better view, you looked around the area surrounding that lone building that Jean was supposedly hiding within. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a Titan that lingered nearby.

Shit, it was too close.

Jean couldn’t take a chance to escape with that Titan lurking on the street.

“There’s a Titan there as well,” you explained to no one in particular, heart racing. “He won’t be able to escape if it’s lingering around him like that.”

“Y-yeah, but…” Connie responded, shakily. “He’ll be safe if he just stays inside and keeps quiet, right?”

Having been characteristically quiet until that point, Annie looked to her side, ice-blue eyes landing upon you, voice calm. “What are you planning?”

Did you even have a plan? Truthfully, you didn’t know. Couldn’t bother to conjure up a proper tactical plan that would be plausible enough to bring about ease and confidence.

Ah. If only Armin were by your side at that moment.

Would it be considered insubordination if you fled from your post in favor of saving the life of a friend? Would your absence go unnoticed? Though, truthfully, no matter the outcome of your dilemma, there was only one acceptable course of action you were willing to take.

You returned Annie’s gaze. Determination and something far more startling was written along your features.

Even Annie had to blink in astonishment at the sight of it.

“I’m not gonna stand around and watch. He won’t last that long,” you growled beneath your breath before you turned away from both of them, lunged forward, and leapt from the safety of the wall, pressing down on the triggers of your ODM. The sound of wires whirred and a burst of gas propelled your body forward, and then you were gone, nothing but a receding, airborne figure.

“Ah! W-wait!” you heard Connie screech behind you after your lone and brave descent to Trost.

And although you understood his worry, you also understood what needed to be done.

Unfortunately, there was no time left to _wait._

If Jean was to survive, you had to _fight._

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

“Can I really come up with something?”

His words were whispered to himself, uneven with labored breath as he slumped against the wall, exhausted and alone, and with broken gear, no less. Damn his luck. Of all the situations he could’ve gotten himself into, this one would’ve probably ranked among the worst on that list. The floorboards he was resting on were left with scattered furniture, broken glass, and discarded papers, all clear indications that the residents who once resided there perhaps evacuated in a hurry. Most of the civilians of Trost were evacuated safely, at least. His family… _your_ family.

When was the last time he even heard his mother’s voice?

It was a fleeting thought, shattered by the dreaded sounds of a Titan stalking around just outside of those walls that he’d taken shelter within. However, even the structure of it could come tumbling down on top of him if a Titan slammed its hand upon its rooftop, or thrusted its weight against the building’s walls. It was a lousy spot for protection, merely a false sense of security, though at least he remained hidden from eyes.

And yet, those footsteps he was so terrified of were fading, sounding more distant with each step it took.

Jean held his breath, listening.

Was it...walking away?

What? Why?

Pressing his lips thin, Jean scurried to peer through the dirty window again, gaze roaming over the sight of the Titan as it seemed to be sauntering off, distracted by something other than him. Rarily, if ever, did Titans find interest in anything other than trying to consume their bout of human flesh, so the idea that it suddenly veered elsewhere didn’t sit well with him. Confused, Jean allowed his eyes to fall from the height of Titan and down to the street, where there, he spotted **you**.

His eyes widened, mouth agape as he shifted closer to the window.

A whisper of your name left his lips, all disbelief and bafflement on his tongue.

Were you distracting the Titan, giving him a chance to make an escape?

If that was the case, you really were crazy, then.

Risking your life like that?

Even then, as his heartbeat thrummed loud in his ears, it was his chance. He had to dash outside, gather that ODM gear from the body of a soldier that was crushed beneath rubble, and retreat to the wall. Thus, Jean scrambled swiftly to his feet, steps thudding on the floorboards as he raced across the room for the door.

 _I have to go!_ his thoughts roared in his head, urged him, as he rushed along the debris-covered street, speeding toward the fallen soldier and crouching to salvage what was left of their ODM gear. Even then, his fingers shook in his haste to unfasten the equipment in its awkward and skewed state against the motionless body.

“Damn it...What’s wrong with it?!” he growled, desperate hands fumbling with the straps and stubborn buckles. “Not now!”

As if he wasn’t feeling high-strung enough already -- what with the fact that _you_ , of all people, were luring a Titan away for the sake of him, and with the second fact that he was without proper gear on the battlefield -- he heard the distinct sound of returning footsteps. The ground rumbled, vibrating beneath the massive feet that encroached on Jean’s space, so dangerously close.

It seemed that you could only hold the giant’s attention for so long before it refocused on him again.

Or maybe, God forbid, that it… _got to you,_ somehow. No, you were still alive. Had to be. Shit, he couldn’t spare the time to look back to confirm whether or not you were still alive as he struggled with the gear. He could hardly think straight, and he couldn’t--

“Jean! Calm down!” Next came Marco’s shout from above, and the sound of whirring ODM zipped through the air with it.

“Marco?” Partly dumbfounded, Jean whirled around to the sight of said male gliding by the Titan, dangerously close. “What are you doing?!” he couldn’t help but yell at him, what with all the panic flooding his veins.

_And there was no denying it, then…_

Jean watched as Marco landed on the ground, blades brandished, and sprinted in the opposite direction, leading the Titan away from Jean’s vulnerable form and back toward where you stood, awaiting the freckled boy. Only then, did both you and Marco take off further down the street together, distracting the Titan long enough for Jean to work the ODM gear loose from the body, hurriedly equipping himself.

_...both you and Marco were crazy, beyond a doubt._

Maybe that made Jean crazy as well.

However, what none of you were expecting was to see Annie and Connie tossing themselves in the mix and helping. By the time all five of you managed to return atop the interior wall, safe and well, Jean was all fire and sharp words:

“Are you insane?!” he bellowed, voicing his thoughts aloud.

Marco frowned deeply, barking back, “You’re the crazy one!”

“Can’t believe I survived that…” Connie added in, incredulous.

Annie merely ran a hand through her bangs, recomposing herself.

Crouching at Jean’s other side, you could only search for more breath.

As long as they were all alive in the end, you didn't have the words to waste.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

Being crushed by the giant, scalding appendage of a humanoid, while trying to lure Titans away from Eren as he hauled a boulder across town, wasn’t the way you wished to depart from the world...Not in the slightest. Although it was a blur, you were fast enough to evade impending death.

Emitting a scream as a Titan swatted at you, you sprung into action.

With the use of ODM gear, you thrusted yourself onto a nearby rooftop to safety, though you crashed against it none-too-gracefully. Rooftop shingles rattled and fell apart beneath you. Struggling to stand, your shoulder throbbed immediately after that harsh impact, and your damnable luck wasn’t improving in the slightest. That same Titan lunged for you again, arm reaching out in your direction, and you barely gathered your footing to dodge.

A veteran Garrison soldier was quick to fly in to assist you, driving her blades deep into the Titan’s nape before its massive body teetered, ready to collapse onto the rooftop you were standing upon.

“Move!” howled the veteran, expertly perched on a neighboring rooftop. “Now, Trainee!”

Panicked, you darted out of range before the Titan fell hard where you once stood, and the rooftop caved in with its weight. If you hadn’t obeyed the veteran’s orders, then you surely would’ve been crushed. Still completely disoriented from the moment’s rush, you went toppling aimlessly onto another nearby surface, landing close at the veteran’s feet. However, you hit that rooftop with too much force to _not_ sustain a dull ache somewhere in your body for the coming hours, long after the adrenaline would subside.

Though, for that moment, your adrenaline was doing its job within your system -- keeping you alive and moving.

Groaning, you pushed yourself to your dusty knees, gripped your shoulder and assessed the situation. Titans were everywhere, soldiers were running, screaming, _fighting_ and surviving by the skin of their teeth.

Alas, too many were dying still.

Then, suddenly:

“GO, EREN!”

“Armin?” You looked over, toward the sound of his voice where he stood near the breached gate. There was also the sight of Eren's Titan form as he slammed that giant boulder in front of the wall’s hole.

The gate...the gate was sealed, and after a moment’s hesitation, perhaps more of shock, a green flare finally crackled to the tangerine sky. Success.

“We...we did it,” the veteran muttered above you before she kneeled at your side, breathless. “Humanity’s first victory.”

In spite of that, how could victory feel so much like defeat?

 

_“Since the Titans appeared, humanity has never won against them. Their continuous advance has meant humanity’s continuous retreat and loss of territory. But, when this mission succeeds, humanity will have retaken its territory from them for the very first time. This will be humanity’s first victory against the Titans. Compared to all that humanity has lost, it may seem insignificant. But for humanity, that step will be a great advance in our attack on the Titans.”_

_\-- Commander Pixis._

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

Behind the fabric of the worn dust mask, your nostrils still stung with the rancid stench of death.

The aftermath was devastating.

Just when you were convinced that the worst of the battle had long passed two days ago, you were proven wrong. Collecting and identifying fallen soldiers was always a responsibility that you dreaded having to participate in. Besides the physical labor, there were scars left, and you were fortunate enough that those _weren’t_ of any physical wounds. They were, instead, mentally crippling. Emotionally damaging. It was a right miracle that you were able to function still, to gather wits enough to return back to your duties as ordered.

Walking by a line of bodies layered with blood-stained sheets, your steps faltered.

Red, dull hair peeked from under a sheet that covered a body, and you stared at it, felt your stomach knot up. Another lump-of-a-corpse was placed next to hers, half of it missing, dark crimson painted across the cloth material.

Those remains could’ve been anyone, and yet...

It was a gut feeling. An instinctual and visceral type of dread.

Hannah.

Franz.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

Flames of burning pyres danced as smoke spiraled high to the night sky, embers rising with it.

The air was somber, thick, and unbearably heavy.

It was grievous.

During post-battle, death still lingered where it made its irremovable mark on the town of Trost, and more so upon the soldiers who fought for it. There was too much of it to simply be rid of by burning the bodies of those who succumbed to it. The images of death still repeated themselves in the minds of survivors. Those hollow eyes of the fallen, the discolored and pale complexions, and the sight of those mangled corpses that would fuel night terrors for years to come. Perhaps, a lifetime.

Even you cried _so_ much throughout the day after battle.

In the wake of humanity’s first victory in over a century, you still wept for all that was lost. For Marco. For Hannah and Franz. You wept until your tear-ducts could spare no more tears, and still, you sobbed even after that. Despite not speaking of it, you knew that your comrades, your _friends_ , were no fools. They could see the tint of red in your eyes, and that painful swell around them. Not once, did they ever prod for the details. What for? Everyone knew of the devastation, felt it during their own time, some sooner than others...

...and some longer than others.

Seated far off and alone upon the cobblestoned ground, your fingers brushed delicately over budding weeds and elegant, pink flowers that pushed through stone. Nearby, the crackling of multiple pyres hummed in your ears, though you couldn’t bring yourself to stare at them for too long, to get too close, to feel that imposing heat on your skin. Therefore, you kept your distance, and touched those soft flowers and relished what little life somehow remained.

Many graduates of the 104th were present for the burning of the bodies as well. However, even after three years of gazing upon their faces through the worst conditions that were forced during training, none of it compared to the lines on their faces in that moment. God, the sight of them. The glum. Regret. It made your chest ache with more anguish than it should ever have to bear.

When there was further movement, you looked up with dry and reddened eyes to observe, nonetheless.

And, it was Jean.

Of course, it was.

He dared nearer to the flames, crouched down, and slowly gathered charred remnants from the ground within his palm. For a long moment, he pondered with himself.

“Hey, guys…” Somehow, Jean spoke to no one and everyone all at once as he rose to his feet again. Tall and resistant as ever. Strong. “Have you decided which one you’re joining? I have.” His arms began to shake, shoulders taut as his uniform jacket wrinkled. No sooner, his entire being trembled, though he still declared with choked and hard volition:

“I...I’m joining the Survey Corps!”

And then, he too, finally wept.

It was his first time properly mourning the losses since the battle’s end, and his weeping was ever raw.

The pain of it wrenched at your chest. Burned it.

Hearing that -- _feeling that_ \-- you plucked one of the smaller flowers underneath your palm, and twirled its thin stem between your fingers. Absently, your gaze admired the soft pink of its petals, though your mind and thoughts and worries were far, far away.

 

\---

 

TROST DISTRICT

“Jean… I’m joining with you.”

The pyres were burned out hours ago.

Jean’s lone figure remained seated on the ground in front of the cooling ashes, where wisps of smoke still drifted into the ether, and it had been easy for your to find him. There was a sinking feeling in your heart, however, at the sight of him as you proclaimed your desired path.

“...What?” he spoke with nothing but a heavy breath. “No, are you losing your mind? You’re supposed to go with the Garrison. You chose them! Do you even know what you’re saying?”

With infuriating calmness, you reminded him, “Yes. That was _then._ ”

“Why change? Why now?!” he snapped.

You fell silent when his voice echoed like a harsh, cracking whip.

A hard look settled in your eyes. Something close enough to counter and challenge his.

It would be pathetic to declare that you were willing to put your life on the line just so you could _follow_ him. Though, it was partially true, it was also far from the whole truth. Yes, you wished to see him through this path. To conquer whatever trials and tribulations he will find himself thrusted into, and yet, there was so much more to it than that. More than just relishing in the comfort of having your eyes on him.

There would always be more than that.

There would always be those memories of the ones you lost. Their voices would replay your head, and those smiles that they beamed your way. The trust and faith they held in you. All of that, and for what? Just so that they could wither away well before their time? To leave you, somehow alive against all odds. And again, over and over, you would find yourself asking why?

What did they all die for?

Why?

You didn’t have the answers. Wouldn’t be able to bring yourself any closure if you simply stayed behind, lingering on those walls among the Garrison.

Then, there was your mother. Having been long since discharged from the military -- by injuries sustained from a Titan in the year 846, no less -- she too would beg you not to join the Survey Corps. She had witnessed the horrors of Titans long before you, warned you of their danger, though you still opted to join the military.

Yes. Everything and everyone you knew was pulling against you.

Even then, you swallowed dryly, and looked Jean in the eye.

 _“This decision is mine,”_ you told him. “Not anyone else’s. Not even yours. My mother’s. No one’s.”

Finality was born anew in your words. Resilience rested in your expression.

And perhaps, that type of stubbornness was one trait Jean wished you hadn’t picked up from him.

He exhaled, then, loudly. “But the Garrison...It would be safer for you.”

Shaking your head with steadfast opposition, you said, “All that devastation and horror that we just went through. All the lives lost.” A softness worked its way to your gaze. “Do you truly think I’ll be any safer with the Garrison if something like that happens again? There would still be death and loss.”

Staggered, Jean’s countenance twisted, brows wrinkling as he bristled. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you bit back, though he was just as fast.

“You need to be selfish for once and save yourself,” he argued, firmly.

Your gaze fell downcast, and the lines of your face shifted into something of a softer nature.

“That’s just it,” you murmured, sounding quieter. Thoughtful. “I _am_ being selfish.”

You heard him suck in a breath, felt his eyes set on you.

There was more he needed to hear, and you were keen to elaborate:

“I’m being selfish,” your tone retained its hushed volume, “because what I want is to find out what our friends died for. And.. what I want is to be with you throughout it, Jean. I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.”

Jean turned away, then, staring out into that nothingness of the night again. His fingers clenched and unclenched for a pensive moment.

You sat next to him, finally, gaze rolling over the sharpness of his side-profile, and you whispered still, “It’s what Marco would’ve done. And you know it, too. He would’ve joined the Survey Corps, and even then, I would’ve decided to join.” Blinking, you glanced over the length of his lashes, and then, peered at his eyes. “There’s no way you can talk me out of this.”

Being that close to him, you realized, he was warm.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, head dipping downward as he conceded, lowly, “I guess I can’t, huh..?”

There was a tightness that began to constrict your airway.

A weight pressed against your sternum, far too heavy on your chest.

One of your palms cupped itself tightly over your mouth, hiding the tremble of your lips. Warm tears burned at the back of your eyes, and you _shuddered_. Though, you didn’t allow your tears to spill, clenching your eyes shut. No more. You wouldn’t divulge your woes in front of him, and you were grateful, somehow, that Jean kept his head low enough to not catch sight of you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to just thank everyone who has shown support for this fic.  
> All of you are amazing. <3  
> Thank you.
> 
> Psst, also my apologies for any mistakes!


	4. [Year 850] Decisions

Shortly after joining the Survey Corps, it was announced that an expedition beyond the walls would be commenced with the newest recruits included, what with the Survey Corps hardly having enough numbers among their forces to spare anyone for an operation of such scale, regardless of rank.

During the mandatory mission briefings, you were ordered to be a part of the relay team, positioned near the rear of the scouting formation. 

At first, you thought it was a simple job in the grand scheme of things. Thought that being positioned nearest to the rear would pose as an easy assignment, considering that it was usually the front that expected more trouble with safely guiding the formation.

But, if only it were to turn out that way. Easy and without a hitch or misfortune. 

It was only after a small amount of traversing within the scouting formation that your relay team had unfortunately become the first of many to encounter the Female Titan…

_Thudump._

_Thudump._

_Thudump._

Your heart raced as another soldier was caught beneath the mass of a giant, skinless hand. The sound of bones crushing and a last desperate wail for life rang in your ears, but your legs keep going, taut fingers gripping onto your hilts. 

In the middle of your confrontation, you maintained a hurried pace to find shelter in the lush foliage of clustered trees ahead. It was the only safe haven that was left for your dwindling squad. Engaging in battle against the Female Titan out in the open was a risk that would most likely prove fruitless for someone of your particular skill-set and experience. 

Your horse was thrown across the land long ago, and the others were either dead or lost, leaving you completely vulnerable.  

Blood pulsated through your veins and sparked a surge of adrenaline somewhere within you when the massive hand of the Female Titan swatted at your frame. That time, it was luck that saved you when your footing slipped on blood beneath your boots and you staggered backward, barely evading its scorching fingers by a hair’s breadth.

Chilling, ice-blue eyes rolled around to land on your form beneath its fringe, and its heavy steps pounded on the ground as it sped your way. Every breath hitched in your throat, gritting your teeth. 

Cool air hit your skin when the Titan tried to catch you once more, however you thought faster and rolled backward, wincing as your gear dug into your skin.

“Damn it!” you hissed breathlessly, losing balance to simply slam onto your back, though you were quick to clamber to your feet again. 

Shooting your grappling hooks, somehow, into the Female Titan’s shoulder, you zipped around in the sky again, hovering over the Titan’s nape, where you slashed your blades across with a grunt. Instead of searing blood that would usually splatter across your skin and uniform, there were crystallized shards, glittering and iridescent as both of your blades broke off from the impact.

It only took seconds before it all went to hell…

With precision that was often unfathomable for most Titans, a heavy hand aimed directly for your wires instead of hitting you, oddly enough. 

However, when the Female Titan grabbed hold of your wire, it swung you sideward. With enough force applied, the Titan could’ve easily killed you -- snapped your spine in half -- though for reasons that were then unknown, it spared you as it sent you spiraling across the land, unable to control your ODM gear. 

It was enough force to send you skidding atop the dirt a few yards; your gear breaking and twisting in on itself. By the time you came to a halt, blood was flowing from a gash just above your hip and your spine pulsated dully as you rested on your stomach. 

Without your gear in working order, you were helpless as coughs wracked your frame. The bitter, iron taste of blood filled your mouth, and it became harder to _breathe_. Desperately, you tried to cough it all out, but it seemed as if more just kept gurgling up your throat. 

As you stared at its looming frame, the ground vibrated beneath you as the Female Titan approached. A shadow fell over your frame, but it was only natural that you refused to face what was going to end you.

Thus, you turned your head away, eyes clenched shut.

In a manner that suggested curiosity, the Female Titan kneeled down and leaned over your limp body just a bit to catch a glimpse of your features, and stood, suddenly.

And yet, it was there, where the Female Titan left you to most likely die as you laid powerless.

 

* * *

 

When you came to, after falling unconscious out in the battlefield, the Survey Corps were in the middle of retreating, and you were bandaged, lying in one of their wagons.

Rescued.

 _Alive_.

You noticed that someone was next to you, turning your throbbing head to find Armin, but he was looking elsewhere. His thoughts were far off.

Groaning when you tried to move too fast, the world swayed around you.

Jostled by your movements, as stiff as they were, was when Armin realized you were awake, blue eyes round and fretful.

“Take it easy,” he advised, cautious hands hovering over you.

You looked at him and the very first thing you asked, despite his concern, was: 

“Where’s the Titan?…T-the Female Titan?”

The blond shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. The Captain and Commander are already aware of it. The soldiers have already engaged with it, but…” he trailed off, suddenly, as if he’d crossed a line he didn’t mean to.

More worried than before, you move to try and sit up straighter. 

“Is everyone okay?” you murmured. 

Armin looked quite uneasy at that, gently guiding you back down, and his expression _scared_ you. _Terrified_ you.

Your eyes quivered; watered and full.

“Armin,” you pressed, tone brittle.

“Um…" he began to concede, "There were casualties. Many...of them.”

Your eyes glossed over even more, and then the sound of footsteps rushed over, and someone called your name.

Jean.

When you recognized his voice, you moved to sit up again, ignoring the pain and constant protests of Armin suggesting you stayed down.

However, Jean finally made it over, and he climbed onto the wagon as well, kneeling next to you where the material of his cloak brushed along your arm.

“You’re conscious,” he assessed, giving you another once-over. 

“You’re _alive_ ,” you whispered back, on even ground. 

Jean clenched his jaw, brows furling. “What…what the hell were you thinking?”

“What?”

“Fighting the Female Titan on your own like that. You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there!”

“J-Jean!” Armin cautioned from the side. “She only just woke up, shouldn’t you take it easy on her?”

“Take it easy on her?!” Jean bellowed.

“I thought…” you said, stammering between them. “I–”

“No, you didn’t think!” Jean shot back,whirling in on you. “What if you died, huh?”

You noticed he was desperate, then. And yet, your pride wouldn't allow him to chastise you for _surviving_. 

“You would’ve kept surviving,” you snapped. “The same way we did when we lost Marco. We survived.” You sniffled, and dropped your head. “Jean…you were always the strongest out of the three of us. If there’s anyone that could live for us when we’re both gone, it’s you.”

Jean sighed, and you heard him speak. “As if I ever plan on living without any of you.” 

You and Armin blinked up at him then, lost for words, but before you could reply, a Survey Corps soldier approached and ordered Kirstein and Arlert to assist with collecting the bodies, loading them onto their wagons. 

They both replied “yes, sir” in unison before they stood and started to clamber off the wagon that you, sadly, remained upon. 

Standing over you, Jean peered down and suggested, “you should rest,” before he left.

Armin glanced at you once more, agreeing. “Jean’s right. Your body took a hard fall out there, you’re better off just taking it easy for a while.”

You gave him a weak smile, and nodded, and soon as Armin hopped off the wagon behind Jean, you lowered yourself back down, peering up at the sky for a moment. 

Then, you closed your eyes, and rested.

 

* * *

 

After the expedition, the Survey Corps spent few days assessing the situation involving the Female Titan and its motivation and determination with capturing Eren.

It was during that time that Squad Leader Hange took it upon herself to summon you to her quarters specifically, for a private briefing.

She wasted little time before she informed you as to why she had a specific interest in _you_ and _your_ skills; said she’d never witnessed anyone handle a blade the way you did among your peers (aside from Mikasa and Annie). Even that led on to her admitting that you were her most reasonable candidate, what with all of the others from the top ten of the 104th having already been set to be placed under Captain Levi’s orders, as members of his own elite squad. 

Though, truthfully, it wasn’t as if you ever expected to be granted such a position. You doubted you would be able to keep up with the likes of Mikasa, Jean, Sasha, and Connie. Hell, even Armin seemed a more resilient soldier for the Corps than you were.

But as Hange talked with you, she dug deep enough to convince that maybe you were capable of joining her and her own squad. Even Moblit seemed accepting of the possibility of having you among them – a protege of sorts. 

And a part of you knew what was coming before Hange even invited you into her squad.

Yet, you couldn’t deny that the sound of, “welcome to Squad Hange,” sounded promising when she spoke those words to you with a hand extended for you to take. 

 _Squad Hange…not bad. Not bad at all,_ you thought as you took the Squad Leader’s hand.

 

* * *

 

That same afternoon, as you sat beneath a marble sky with your thoughts, Jean found you; having sought you out for whatever reason.

You were silent upon his approach, peering at him as he nestled himself at your side.

Ah…yes, you remembered that _warmth_ of him.

“Don’t you know you have details to finish around headquarters?” Jean accused, filling the silence that you were _so_ content with.

A single, drawn out breath left your lips.

There was more quietude before you swallowed, straightening your seated posture.

“I’ve been recruited into Squad Hange.”  _As simple as that._ “I thought you would want to know that before the operation to capture the Female Titan begins.”

Another moment of silence ensued, thicker than before.

Jean made a sound, as if clearing his throat. “And, whose decision was that, huh?”

_“…Mine.”_

Of course…

Surprisingly, he didn’t muster the energy to protest against the news. Instead, Jean fell quiet again, though only for a fleeting moment.

“I didn’t…mean to hurt you with my words,” he admitted. “When we were outside of the walls, I mean…”

You smiled, taking Jean aback with your ease. “What hurts the most is the fact that you think you have to explain all of this to me. I know you, better than anyone else in the Corps.” You chuckled at the incredulity of his expression, and spoke softly still, “Save your breath, Kirstein. It’s in the past now, and we can’t afford to dwell on it. Haven’t you learned anything since we’ve been thrown into battle?”

Jean blinked, and did nothing more when he felt your fingers mindlessly brush by his wrist before they were rested upon the slick cobblestone below, next to his hand. And, there were those same flowers stubbornly pushing through stone again – beneath your palms; between your fingers.


End file.
